A Lack of Obedience
by Bluebird's Grace
Summary: DG and Ambrose are busy people. As a Princess and a Royal Adviser, respectively, they only get to spend time together when DG has time to have someone help her find a few memories.


DG was in trouble. Or at least, if things continued on the way they looked like they would, she'd be in trouble fairly soon.

Really, that was nothing new. Half the problem with the princess regaining her childhood memories was that she needed to _act them out_, and the girl had been a pistol since infancy. The sheer amount of ruckus she caused as a child with her sister, and continued to cause as an adult, was mind-boggling. Books could be, and had been, written to document all of the ways she had broken, defied, evaded, infringed upon, shirked, violated, and otherwise neglected various rules and conventions. Ambrose should have, therefore, being an intelligent man, taken her latest bit of mischief-making in stride. Yet somehow, the reinstated inventor could not let it go.

This, perhaps, had something to do with the fact that she was willfully breaking the rules her mother had _just_ laid in place regarding the dress code for the princesses of the OZ _right in front of him_.

He couldn't take it without question anymore. He had to speak. "Deege, stop."

DG stopped, swiveling to face him with a curious expression on her face. She quirked an eyebrow at her friend. "In the middle of the street?"

"Of course not!" He tried to effect indigence to cover how flustered she had him. "What a silly thing to think, stopping in the middle of the street, why in the name of Ozma would you think that I meant-?" He cut himself off suddenly, grinning. "Sarcasm. I almost didn't notice it. Shamefully, really, considering I'm such a master at the practice myself."

She laughed, a high, clear sound, calling his name and skipping ahead of him. Ambrose hurried to catch up, fidgeting with the cuff of his white dress shirt as they crossed the remainder of the road. DG was sure that she had memories of the forest stretching languidly in front of them, and they had had to sneak out of the castle, across the grounds, and trek for _nearly an hour_ south to find the cursed thing without her mother finding out.

"So, what was I supposed to stop?" DG beamed, walking backwards.

His mind was blank. She was doing that big-blue-eyes thing with the smiling-at-him thing that never failed to empty his head of any thoughts aside from how her mouth would feel against his own _and_ _damn it if she isn't doing this on purpose to distract me_,he thought. Ambrose shook his head sharply, trying to remember his original reason for asking her to stop. "Um."

"Is this going to take a while?" DG asked, her eyebrow playfully quirked, fingering the hem of her long shirt. When Ambrose blew at the curls falling into his face in frustration she sighed and pulled them both down to sit in the grass.

"I just need a second to gather my thoughts." He assured her, resting his head on his hand. He crossed his legs, looking thoughtfully at the tree line to the left of DG's shoulder. "Alright, I've got it."

"Great, what is it?"

"Your clothes."

A wry smile worked itself onto DG's lips. "Stop my clothes?"

"No, no, no." He sighed, his entire body following the exhale and slumping just slightly. "How do I say this, doll?"

He contemplated it for another moment, giving DG time to study him. He was dressed much more casually than he could usually get away with at the palace, and she knew from his posture he was grateful for that. His hair was still parted by that silver zipper despite having had, as he like to say, his marbles returned, and his curls were only marginally more orderly with their daily introduction to a brush. He looked healthier- he was eating semi-regularly, sleeping more, and happy to be doing work for the Queen.

Ambrose's happiness showed. His skin finally had some color to it, which was a relief, and his lips weren't as pale. His eyes sparkled, but then, they always had.

"Honey doll," he began, startling DG from her inspection, "I understand that you want to rebel against your mother-"

"I do not!" She snapped, indignant.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh please. Who magicked her ball gown into a flapper dress five seconds before being presented to an assembly of important royals?"

She pointed a finger at him. "That was an accident. No one can prove otherwise." She wavered under his amused, intense gaze and finally sighed. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I want to rebel against my freaking _perfect_ mother _ju_st a little bit."

"You almost gave that poor counselor a heart attack."

"Ambrose." She warned. Birdsong filtered through the trees with a strangely Mozart like quality.

He grinned. "Fine. Anyway, as I was saying. You want to rebel against your mother. I understand why, really I do. But every other time you've done it you've let it go after she told you off for it or explained why it was inappropriate. I just want to know why you continue to go against her wishes on _this_ particular case."

She ducked her head, fiddling with the grass around her knees. "I have no idea what you mean."

"The jeans, DG. Hey, I like them, and I'm sure a lot of the other guys that see you in them like them too, which is most of the problem." He sighed, his cheeks pinking adorably. "Women in the OZ don't wear pants unless they work on a farm, and even then they are loose and usually their husband's. What you're wearing…"

He trailed off, his gaze creeping shyly over the denim that hung snugly over her calves. He swallowed thickly. "Suffice it to say that you are attracting a lot of attention from the opposite sex, which isn't really a good thing for an already gorgeous princess. Remember too, you are a role model for young girls all across the OZ- they will want to wear what you wear and in our society those-" He closed his eyes briefly, "Ozma, I wish I didn't have to say this, but those pants will quickly turn you into a sex symbol if enough people see you in them!"

She smiled sweetly. "You think I'm gorgeous?"

He had to grin at that. "I do, but honey doll you are missing the point entirely."

"I don't get why a pair of pants is that big a deal, that's all."

"You are doing this specifically to make me uncomfortable, and possibly to kill me. Your mother already explained this." He hauled himself to his feet, dusting his trousers off and offering her a hand.

She took it and stood. "Okay, my mom saying 'it is an inappropriate way for a young woman of your station to dress' is _not_ a suitable explanation."

He glared at her for a moment. "Start walking. I don't want to have to look you in the face while I explain this." When she obliged he fell into step beside her. "Deege, you are a smart girl. You _must _already understand that wearing those jeans, erm, accentuates certain features of your anatomy, especially from behind- _you're giggling!"_ His incredulous voice rang out across the empty field. "You tricked me!"

"You're so cute when you squirm." She teased, "You try to technical-jargon your way out of the situation."

"My trust in you has been violated beyond repair." He sniffed, giving himself over to theatrics.

"Aw, come on Ambrose!" She grabbed his hand and turned pleading eyes on him, playing along. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

Turning serious, Ambrose's lips twitched up into what was almost a smile. "Tell me the real reason you insist on wearing your jeans, honey doll."

She frowned. "It's a stupid reason."

"Then you should have no problem telling me."

"No, I mean it's really stupid. And you'll think I'm crazy."

Rolling his eyes, Ambrose tapped the zipper on the top of his head. "Former head case, Deege. Been there, done that."

She frowned deeper, scuffing her shoe against the ground, and mumbled something Ambrose had no hope of making out. "There, I told you, let's go-"

Pulled up short by his keenly interested expression, she blushed. "It's a really, really, stupid reason."

"I don't care if it's the most idiotic reason in all of the OZ _and_ the Other Side honey doll; I just want to know it. Give a friend some piece of mind, hmm?" He nudged her in the ribs playful, but her frown only eased a fraction.

"The zipper." She said.

Certain he misheard her, or at least missed something over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Ambrose asked for clarification. "I beg your pardon?"

"The zipper is the reason I wear these jeans." Her hand, the one that wasn't on his, rested over the waistband of her pants.

Mind whirling with possible connections that he couldn't let himself make, Ambrose just stared.

For her part, DG huffed a little and tried, haltingly, to explain. "It's just- I see Cain every day, and Raw is constantly sending me letters, but we live in the same castle and I hardly ever see you. And I know how ridiculously weird it is for me to associate this zipper with-" She cut herself off without realizing it, latching onto another thought. "There are no other zippers in that stupid palace! I swear the only two I've seen in the entire _freaking_ OZ are the one on your head and the one on my jeans! Everything else fastens with buttons or clasps or, or those stupid little Velcro strips!"

Ambrose could hardly believe what he was hearing and had himself half convinced that he was dreaming when she added, quietly, "I told you it was stupid."

He was blushing, completely touched, and surprised himself by digging in his left pocket to extract a piece of smooth glass. Without comment he passed it to her and waited.

"What's- I don't understand." DG turned the blue chip of river glass over in her hand.

Feigning nonchalance, Ambrose shrugged and looked at his shoes. "It's the same color as your eyes."


End file.
